


So What Is the Truth?

by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Birthday Fluff, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Lance Family Feels, M/M, Mick Watches the Food Network, Minor Dinah Lance (Arrow)/Quentin Lance, Minor Laurel Lance/Tommy Merlyn, Social Media AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/pseuds/asexual-fandom-queen
Summary: While Sara's stuck in Starling City for Christmas with her family, Len and Mick use Twitter to remind her how much she means to them. Sara can't wait to get home. (inspired by this post)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldflashwavebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldflashwavebaby/gifts).



> Inspired by [this post](http://chrissongzzz.tumblr.com/post/142134056734/have-you-guys-seen-this-yoooo-im) on Tumblr about the two girls who get called out on Twitter for having the same boyfriend but joke's on you because _surprise_ they're poly! 
> 
> This is also a ~~very late I'm so sorry~~ birthday gift for [coldflashwavebaby](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coldflashwavebaby/pseuds/coldflashwavebaby). You were posting a lot of Rogue Canary a few weeks ago and I just felt super inspired to go out and write this for you. I really hope you like it! 
> 
> I hope everyone else likes it too and, as always, if you do, let me know by leaving kudos and comments!

The first conscious desire Sara has when her alarm goes off in the morning is to stop it and go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, it’s Christmas, so Sara can’t really do that.

Her next thought is to check Twitter, which is far more reasonable.  

Turning over in bed, Sara grabs her phone from the nightstand and pulls up the app. A notification tells her she’s been mentioned in a tweet by @cold_snap, and a slow, dopey smile spreads across her face before she even sees it.

The selfie Len tweeted is grainy and horribly lit, but Sara remembers the night it was taken well. It’s from their date at the outdoor rink in Central last week, and Len was such a nerd the whole time about it finally being cold enough for the ice to freeze. She’s cuddled into his side, petite frame nearly swallowed whole in that damn parka he loves so much, the fur of the hood brushing against both their red-stained cheeks. It was gracious of him to give it to her, even if he did spend the rest of the night posturing and pretending he wasn’t shaking with cold himself.

_Merry Christmas and happy birthday to my incredible badass girlfriend @bi-bi-birdie I love you so much you really melt a guy’s heart_

Leave it to Len to be such a drama queen. Sara likes the post and retweets it as she gets out of bed, shivering against the cold morning air, gooseflesh rising on her arms. She puts her phone to sleep and leaves it on her nightstand as she pads down the hallway of her childhood home to claim a shower before Laurel wakes up empties the hot water tank.

It’s like they’re teenagers all over again.

Sara doesn’t mind being home for the holidays, but there’s a reason she moved to Central City nearly a decade ago instead of staying in Starling. Twenty-year-old Sara wasn’t the best person, nor was she in the best place. And maybe it had more to do with youthful indiscretion than the city itself, but after Laurel caught Sara in bed with her boyfriend Oliver when the Queen’s Gambit returned to port from a trip to China, Sara knew she needed to take some time away.

Except _some_ time turned into _lots_ of time the more Sara fell in love with Central City. At first it was just the location itself, the pace slower, the architecture more modern, the people friendlier. Then it was her job, bartending at a hole-in-the-wall dive in an area of town that prompted her to become an expert in Muay Thai and Krav Maga. In fact, it was at Saints and Sinners three years ago, when the bar changed hands and came under new management, that Sara met the two most important reasons to stay.

“Do you really have to go back tonight?” Sara’s father asks in the kitchen at lunch as he passes her a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes to bring out into the dining room.

Her mother scoffs as she overhears them, wiping down a nearby counter with a checkered dishtowel. “Quentin,” she chastises.

Sara’s father shrugs. “What?” he protests. “It’s my baby girl’s birthday. And it’s Christmas. I can’t want her to stick around?”

“Look,” Sara interjects, part giggle, part sigh. “You know I love spending time with the two of you, and Laurel and Tommy. And, of course, I love seeing my niece and nephew. But I have a life in Central. People I need to get back to.”

Sara’s father opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by the disconcerting sound of shattering dishware from the room over. Sighing, he takes the bowl of potatoes from Sara’s hands and darts quickly away.

“Hold that thought,” he calls over his shoulder.

Sighing, Sara pulls her phone from her pocket and scrolls through her notifications. She’s gotten more Birthdaymas wishes on Twitter and Facebook, from Len’s sister Lisa, her best friend Shawna, her ex-girlfriend Kendra who she still keeps in touch with, and more of the like from extended family and friends. More than anything, though, Sara perks up as she sees that @lightemup mentioned her in a tweet.

Sara honestly hadn’t thought Mick would. It isn’t exactly his style. Mick’s a firm believer that parading your relationship around on social media is tacky and reeks of insecurity, and it’s a position he’s defended to Sara countless times. But he also knows that Sara does like it, thinks it’s thoughtful and romantic, and it flatters her that he’s gone against his better judgement to make her happy, just this once.

_yeah my girlfriend is okay or whatever merry xmas & hbd @bi-bi-birdie _

There’s a picture attached to the tweet and everything, which, for Mick, is really pulling out all the stops. Contrasting the picture Len posted in a way that’s almost comical, the picture Mick’s chosen is from a getaway they took to the beach in Coast City last summer. Mick has on a pair of red and orange boardshort while Sara wears her favourite bikini, a white stringy number she unfortunately lost the bottoms of in an ill advised drunken midnight swim later that same week. It isn’t a selfie either but a candid Len took. Her arms and legs are wrapped around Mick’s broad torso in a piggy back as she tries to perch her ridiculous, floppy sunhat on his head.

Sara likes and retweets the post with a bright, delighted smile on her face. As she exits the kitchen, Laurel finishes sweeping up the last of the scattered glass shards Rebecca, her youngest, accidentally broke. Tommy’s kneels at the four-year-old’s side, wiping the tears from her eyes and reassuring her that no one in angry with her.

Laurel really has done well for herself, Sara thinks. She’s got a wonderful husband, two adorable kids, and a successful career as an ADA for the city of Starling. Tommy works in emergency medicine at Starling General, too, and it makes Sara wonder how they ever find the time to do anything as a family, though really, their relationship doesn’t look like it’s hurting.

Even Oliver Queen’s settled down, from what Sara’s heard, gotten his life together and is only a few years away from taking over the family company when his father retires. He’s engaged, too, to the adorable nerd who heads up QC’s IT Department. Tommy says she’s good for Oliver, and Sara hopes that’s true.

“I don’t understand why your boyfriends didn’t just come with you,” Sara’s father says as soon as he spots her, picking up their conversation from earlier like they’d never dropped it. “We keep saying the same thing every year. They’re more than welcome. Sure, it’s a bit unorthodox, but your mother and I are fine with it, really, we are.”

“I know, Dad,” Sara says with a laugh. “And they appreciate the invitation, but Len’s got his sister in Central, and he and Mick always do something with her. It’s tradition.”

Her father’s face sets in determination. “Next year,” he says firmly, jabbing his pointer finger out at Sara like he needs it to get his point across. “Next year they come. Even if that means bringing the sister, too, alright. The more the merrier.”

Reluctantly, Sara agrees. If feels like a lie, but she’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it, which hopefully won’t be for another eleven months, but knowing her father, will probably be more like six or seven.

Lunch is delicious, and Sara enjoys it -- the food, the company -- she really does. But once they’ve eaten enough turkey to burst and the Christmas Crackers come out, she’s anxious to leave. Her bag’s been packed since the night before, and all she wants is to grab it and run out the door before--

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”

That happens.

Not like it really matters. Sara’s plane can’t leave any sooner than it’s scheduled, meaning there’s no escape from her father’s endless badgering about being one year older and not getting any younger and when is she getting married, anyway? Sara was off the hook for a few years when things with Laurel and Tommy were still fresh, but she knew that would only last so long.

“Dad, you know polygamy is illegal, right?” Sara reminds him, smirking around a forkful of cherry chip cake -- her favourite since she was a kid.   

Her father scoffs and hand-waves the issue away. “So not an actual marriage,” he says. “But maybe a ceremony or something. Something I can walk you down the aisle for, take some pictures of, you know?”

“Look, we can talk about it,” Sara offers.

“Talk about it,” her father replies. “What’s there to talk about? You’ve been together almost three years.”

“Some people are together a lot longer than that before getting married, Dad,” Laurel cuts in, feeding Paul, her youngest, puffed rice snacks absently from a to-go cup as she bounces him on her lap.

“Exactly,” Sara says, grateful for her sister’s solidarity. “Len and Mick were together two decades before they got married.”

Her father shrugs. “Yeah, well, so?” he asks. “They couldn’t exactly get married legally either.”

“Dad,” Sara sighs.

“What about kids, huh?” he presses. “You thinking of giving me any more grandbabies any time soon?”

“Quentin, that is enough,” Sara’s mother shrieks, exasperated, over her husband’s unending stream of probative questions. Her glare is unyielding, and Sara’s father has the decency to look at least somewhat ashamed.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he grumbles, picking at his cake rather violently with his fork. “Your old man just wants what’s best for you. And I’m happy that you’re happy. I wanna celebrate that. So sue me.”

Sara chuckles fondly, head shaking. “I know, Dad,” she replies.

They eat cake and talk of lighter, safer things from there on out until it’s time for Sara to leave.

The plane trip home is uneventful, a nonstop flight preceded by a teary goodbye at the airport from her mother and father -- but mostly her father. They’re in the air for just over four hours, and Sara watches Love Actually for what must be the millionth time when she’s not otherwise sleeping or listening to music.

When she arrives at Central City International, Sara picks up her suitcase at the baggage claim, pulls on her coat, and heads out into the brusque winter air to hail a cab. She shivers as the driver gets out to help her with her bags, used to the milder Southern California climate, even after just one week away.

The first thing Sara notices when she arrives home and opens the door to her apartment is the sweet, tangy scent of Mick’s homemade barbecue sauce sound of laughter from the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m home,” she calls, collapsing the handle of her suitcase and hanging up her coat. It’s just after eight and Len and Mick should still be at Lisa’s, but obviously they’re not. Instead, Len’s sweeping into the room and pulling Sara into a hug then a soft, tender kiss. He takes her bag as she kicks off her boots and stuffs them under the bench.

“Welcome back,” Len whispers, a fond, gentle twinkle in his eyes. As they enter the open-concept kitchen and living space, Len makes a beeline for their bedroom to drop off Sara’s bag.

Mick stands at the stove in a white tank top, thin cotton fabric stretched taut over his bulging muscles, and the soft flannel pajama bottoms Sara left under the tree before going away. He turns his attention from the pot he’s stirring to grin at Sara but doesn’t falter as he continues mixing with vigor. “Merry Christmas, doll,” he says.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Sara replies. “I thought you’d both still be at Lisa’s.”

Mick rolls his eyes. “She’s got some new boy toy this year. Cisco somthing-or-other. Seems like a nice enough kid.”

Sara chuckles. “And she kicked you out?” she asks.

“Partly,” Mick replies. “But, partly, Lenny and I wanted to do something nice for when you got back. I’m making those short ribs you like. Consider it a gift.”

“And consider my gift that I stayed out of the kitchen,” Len adds as he comes back in from their bedroom. He’s changed into his pajamas too, a fresh new matching set, dark blue with snowflakes where Mick’s pants are green with red holly.

Sara grins and hops excitedly on her toes. “Are mine under the tree?”

It’s a tradition Mick and Len started nineteen years ago that Sara became a part of the first Christmas they spent together. Every year, without fail, they gift each other new pajamas. This year, Sara bought for Mick and Mick bought for Len, meaning…

“Oh, Len, it’s so cute, I love it!”

From underneath the iridescent wrapping paper, Sara pulls a snow white onesie, the fleece downy soft, covered in a repeating abstract pattern of tiny, flying birds. She changes right there in the living room, and Len and Mick nearly trip over themselves to be the first to make a joke about how much she must have missed them.

After Sara gets into her PJs, she, Mick, and Len load up on Mick’s short ribs, and all the other fixings he cooked up to go along with them. Sara piles her plate precariously high with coleslaw and potato salad while Len nearly burns himself on the skillet, still hot from the oven, as he rushes to hoard all the cornbread.

Mick raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “Animals,” he mutters.

“But you love us,” Sara reminds him with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

Sara doesn’t even think to check her Twitter again until it’s nearly midnight. She’s curled up on the couch, warm, full, and slightly jetlagged, pressed snugly between Mick and Len’s bodies as they marathon all the episodes of this season’s Holiday Baking Championship.

“That’s because you over-whipped the egg whites, idiot,” Mick gumbles, and Sara smiles fondly and drops a small kiss to his bare shoulder. Mick’s snide commentary is always the best part of watching Food Network shows.

Sara’s attention turns back to her phone, and she frowns as she sees the massive number of notifications she’s managed to accrue since leaving Starling City. She traces the influx to its source, a tweet by some guy with the handle @nateofsteel.

_yo @bi-bi-birdie both @cold_snap and @lightemup are calling you their girlfriend_

There’s a GIF, too, of Oprah in a grey cardigan asking _so what is the truth?_

Sara snorts.

Len, who’s laid out across the couch like an overgrown cat, his head on Mick’s lap, torso draped over Sara’s, nudges her with his elbow. “What?” he asks.

“Some jackass thinks I’m cheating on you with you.” She nods with her chin from Len to Mick as she speaks.

Mick’s engaged in the conversation now, too, though he looks annoyed to have his attention pulled from the pavlova fiasco unfolding on screen. “Why?” he asks.

Sara chuckles. “Because of your birthday posts,” she replies. “Not everyone’s mind just immediately goes to polyamory, you know.”

“Their loss,” Len drawls, and Sara laughs again. Then, he reaches up for her phone with long, dexterous fingers. “Let me see.”

Sara hands it over and Len taps the screen again to bring the brightness back up. “Why Oprah?” he asks with a perplexed frown.

“It’s a meme,” Sara replies.

“I don’t get those,” Mick says. His eyes have gone back to the TV.

Sara scoffs. “That’s because you’re old, babe.”

Without missing a beat, Mick volleys back, “you’re old, too.”

Sara gasps, indignant. “I am not,” she says.

“Oh, but you are,” Len interjects, far too amused for his own good. “You’re twenty-nine this year, Sara. And next year you’ll be thirty.”

“Are you two really ganging up on me? On my birthday? On Christmas? Do you know no shame?”

Sara plays at being offended, but it’s all in good fun, and her boyfriends don’t let the exchange drag out much longer before they let it drop.

“What are you planning to do about our friendly neighbourhood troll?” Len asks to redirect the conversation, handing Sara back her phone.

Sara smirks. “Maybe I have an idea.”

And if the next time @nateofsteel checks his Twitter he’s mentioned in a particularly smug post that’s just a picture of Mick, Sara, and Len tangled on the couch together in their brand new pajamas, Len smirking wryly, Sara throwing up a peace sign, and Mick flipping off the camera, well, what can Sara say?

It’s the truth.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, the pajama tradition is actually a real thing my parents do where my dad gets my mom a new set of PJs each year for Christmas. 
> 
> Feel free to come check me out on [Tumblr](http://asexual-fandom-queen.tumblr.com/).


End file.
